From Sam to John
by Ghanaperu
Summary: "I know it is far too late to offer forgiveness or to ask for it, far too late to fix a whole lifetime of things going wrong..." In a nutshell, Sam writes a letter to his Dad. Spoilers for season one... maybe minor spoilers for other things but not explicit. I have no idea what season this ought to be in... feel free to give your opinion. Rating is for swearing.


Dad. Dean grinned at me today, and for a half-a-second all I saw was you grinning at me. I didn't even know I could still remember a time when we were both happy, what with all the anger and disappointment we managed to spew at each other. And you're dead now, so it's far too late to try and repair anything, far too late to offer forgiveness or ask for it, far too late to try and fix a whole lifetime of things going wrong – but I need to write this anyway. For me, not for you.

So I know you always wondered why I left, couldn't ever understand what could possibly motivate me to abandon everything you ever taught us for the sake of some stupid degree…sometimes I wondered that myself. And when I walked out of that door I was young and stupid and foolish and even if I had been able to see straight through my rage I wouldn't have known how to explain to you. But what was your excuse? You were the parent, Dad. I was the child, I was supposed to make mistakes and stupid decisions and throw temper tantrums like any child does – but you were supposed to be the parent! So I can't say that I don't regret my decision, because I do. But I don't regret all of it.

Dad, your whole life was a mission of revenge, a desire to kill the thing that killed your wife and stole your happy ending. You can say all you want about saving people and being heroes, but your motives were always about you and never about anyone else. And I grew up in the shelter of Dean's protection, the younger one who was supposed to stay innocent, the one to make you feel better about what you were choosing for us. See, Dean's childhood had to be lost, but somehow you thought I could keep mine. You were wrong, Dad. Not just for thinking that I would be fine, but for choosing me over Dean; hell, for choosing yourself over Dean. You chose your own selfish motives over both of us but mostly over Dean, and I can't speak for him but I still haven't forgiven you for that. You sacrificed us for the sake of revenge, and we have to live with that for the rest of our lives. God, Dean _still_ thinks he has to fight evil to be worth anything, still thinks his life is worth less than everyone else's. You taught him to think that, Dad. You did!

So when I was old enough to think for myself and yet still young enough to be stupid, I walked away. I left you and Dean and hunting and [all of it] with one little choice and a few misplaced words and just like that my past was history. A closed book, sealed for good. Did you regret it, Dad? After you screamed those awful words at me, after you practically disowned your own son because he didn't want what you wanted, did you regret it? I did. I sat on that bench waiting for the bus on that very same day and regretted it – but not because of you. I regretted not staying long enough to help Dean see that he needed to escape from you just as much as I did. Later, much later, I regretted it for your sake too – but Dean always came first for me.

There's a reason why that is, you know; why Dean always came first. And out of all the things you taught us, I think that is the one thing I can't be anything except grateful for. You taught us to love each other, to depend on each other above everyone else. Day after day, month after month, year after year, your choices rammed home for us the lesson that "I can't trust anyone except for my brother." Dean was there for me all the times you weren't, acted as mother and father and brother and friend and teacher and every other role in my life that you wouldn't allow to be filled by the people who fill it for others, for 'normal' people. So I gave Dean the Christmas presents that I would have given you and I gave Dean the admiration that I would have given you and I gave Dean the respect that I would have given you and I gave Dean the love I would have given you. He stole everything that should have been yours, but I am not sorry for that. He earned what you never cared about, and it is your loss as much as it is my gain.

Except, I cannot end with that, because your choices cost Dean something. They cost him his childhood, yes; but they cost him so much more than just that. You put the overwhelming weight of the world on his shoulders, told him he was responsible for keeping me safe and for keeping you sane and for saving the whole entire damn world. You made him think he was worth nothing if he didn't save the people he was supposed to save, made him think his whole purpose in life was to keep others alive. Mainly me. And what kind of life is that, Dad?! Huh? What kind of life is that, to think you are so worthless that your own father gives you the job of sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of everyone else, of anyone else? It was murder, on your part. You murdered a little four-year-old boy called Dean, who called you "Daddy." You murdered him because he wasn't what you needed in your search for revenge, and a new boy named 'Protector' emerged from the ashes and has lived in Dean's place since.

Fuck you, Dad. And when I was eighteen I yelled that at you with all the rage I could muster; and when I was twenty-two I thought it about you with disgust; and then you died and I tried for a while to pretend that I had always only loved you…but now I am saying it again, only in a different tone. It's pity now, not anger. Fuck you, Dad; because you had the most loyal person on the planet learning how to live life from you and you still screwed it up. You had two sons who were going to grow up and save the world and screw destiny and fight demons and angels and damn apocalypses – and you lost your chance to be a part of all of that because you were too busy looking for revenge. Who knows how things would have turned out, if you had made different choices all those years ago?

And Dean is always telling me that you did the best you could; and when I was younger I thought he was just trying to make me feel better but now I think he was telling the truth. You really did do the best you could, it just wasn't anywhere close to good enough. I can't imagine what Mom must have done for you, because having only known you without her I can say for sure that you needed something. Without her, you were an empty man with room for only one love and you chose revenge to fill that space and everyone around you suffered for it. Sometimes, after I have had too much to drink, I imagine to myself what life might have been like if Mom had lived. Who would we have been, how would we have turned out?

So Dean likes to believe in free will and most days I do too, but some days it is easier to believe that destiny set you up to fail. It is easier to forgive if I tell myself that you never really had a chance because the angels and demons had a plan for you and it was always gonna end like this…some days I can even believe it. Dad? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't grow up fast enough to explain to you how wrong you were; sorry I didn't mature fast enough to help you choose a better path; sorry I wasn't the son you needed me to be. And you're dead now, so it doesn't matter anyway, but I want to tell you that I am trying to forgive. Again, not for your sake, but for mine. I need to forgive, and bit by slow bit it is coming.

So today I remember you grinning at me and me grinning back. Today I forgive you for telling me to never come back if I walked out that door. Tomorrow - we'll see.

**AN - OOC? Please tell me what you think...I want to improve as well as know what I am doing right. Thanks!**


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